“This is one ugly looking room. Sorry that this is the one you had to end up in. We do have nicer rooms.” “If it is ugly,” I began to ask. �...Then why do you have it looking this way?” “The wife,” he sighed, before flashing me a smile. “She likes to think she has the decorative touch and well, I am just to scared to tell her the truth.” “You must really love your wife,” I smiled, thinking about how long they had probably been together. He seemed to be in his mid-fifties and I believed that was. They had supported her and she knew that she would have return of some sort of womanhood although she viewed with scepticism in her melancholic isolation that she would ever return to that warm pleasant and happy feminine sexual being she had gradually blossomed to fulfil.She had no male company that replicated the potential and no desire to seek it. She was lost in her work. One day at work one of her female colleagues mentioned how excited she had been the night before and how excited she. I thought it must be fake. So I consistently asking her to give her cell number so that I can call and judge if she is really girl or not. She was hesitant initially, later she gave her number and I hurriedly called her. I was shocked hearing a female voice at the other end. God damn, I felt embarrassed. When I asked if the number belongs to Rita, the voice replied it was not. I was bit exhausted thinking the bustard has make me fool by giving random female number and will made fun with me. Get on with life. There's plenty of it out there. Do your own housekeeping, do you?" There's not a lot to do. I manage.:"Do you cook?" Well, I'm no chef but I don't starve." Varied diet?" Oh yes," wondering where the inquisition was leading."Laundry?" I know how the washing machine works," I replied, smiling, fearing he might want to schedule a kit inspection."Ironing, though. Not many men your age are good at that." When I conceded as much, he went on, "Guessed as much. And that's where we.